


Caught in the Act

by nutmeag83



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Asexual Sherlock Holmes, Cabarets, Drag Queens, Friends to Lovers, It's For a Case, John Watson Flirts, Love Confessions, M/M, Not Canon Compliant
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-03
Updated: 2018-12-03
Packaged: 2019-09-06 02:47:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,651
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16823587
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nutmeag83/pseuds/nutmeag83
Summary: Sherlock and John go to see a drag cabaret, ostensibly for a case. Sherlock learns John may not be a straight as he thought. John learns a few things too.





	Caught in the Act

**Author's Note:**

> Hi. Hello. Hey. So I wrote a silly thing. I went to a drag cabaret tonight (Martha Graham Cracker). And then this happened. 
> 
> P.S. I pulled the performer’s name from a list of drag queen names. The performance itself is completely fabricated.
> 
> It occurs sometime … after they meet? No Mary, no Rosie. Ummm Reichenbach … ???? 
> 
> This was a quick write, so no beta, no Britpick. Just me and my stupid mistakes. Enjoy (despite the mistakes, if you will)!

“So what exactly is this show we’re going to?”

Sherlock rolled his eyes but was not surprised by John’s question. He’d informed John earlier that afternoon that they had a case, and that the likeliest place to gather information would be at a local theatre at tonight’s show. Which was … technically true. If Sherlock hadn’t already solved the case that afternoon, tonight’s performance _would_ be a great time to gather information on the possibly embezzling director. But when he’d been researching the director and had seen that tonight would be a drag queen cabaret performance, he’d had no choice but to purchase two tickets. He had a thing for the theatre in general, but reading that it was a drag queen as the emcee/main performer had just sweetened the deal. It had been too long since he’d been able to really just relax with … people like him. Oh, not drag queens in particular, but just people who enjoyed silly, dramatic, over-the-top but beautiful performances … who also just happened to enjoy the queer side of life.

Plus, it would be a good chance to see how John reacted. Yes, he had a lesbian sister and claimed that “it’s all fine,” but since then, he’d been vociferous in proclaiming how “not gay” he was and that they were not, nor would they ever be, a couple. It hurt a little, every time Sherlock heard the words from his friend’s mouth. Even beyond his own pining, it was hard to hear that he was so repugnant that John couldn’t even stomach the thought of them being together. And though Sherlock assumed John was telling the truth about it all being fine, he wanted to see it for himself, before he even considered coming out. If tonight went well, then … maybe.

“A cabaret,” he replied to John’s query, hoping he wasn’t required to go into more detail.

“Ah.”

“Do you know what a cabaret is, John?” He couldn’t help but get a dig in. It’s what they did.

“Yes, Sherlock. Musical performance, eating, drinking, intimate set up.”

“Very good.”

“You know, I’m not a completely uncultured heathen.”

“Mmm.”

“So why is this cabaret at a theatre, rather than at a club?”

“Special show. The director saw them in Manchester or something. Wanted them to come to London, offered his theatre.”

“Ah. So you said he’s embezzling?”

“That’s what my contact claims.”

“And why do we need to go to the show to do our research?”

“The theatre will be open, but the director and staff will be busy with the show, so we can more easily access the main office without too much work on our part.”

“Ah.”

They road the rest of the trip in comfortable silence. It was nice, with John. So many people Sherlock had worked with required constant talk, or the silence was angry because of some perceived slight on Sherlocks’ part. But with John, it was easy. Sometimes they talked, sometimes they didn’t. He never felt the need to fill the silence or apologize for some social nicety he had overstepped. They knew and understood each, and it was good and comfortable.

Sherlock paid the driver when they arrived. With Sherlock usually shouldering the bulk of the mental work on a case, he left most of the day-to-day details to John, but something about tonight felt … special. Like he was the one treating John. He’d paid for dinner, now he was paying for the cab and guiding John out of it—the ice on the pavement being a bit treacherous, of course.

“So what’s the plan?” John asked lowly as they wandered into the lobby, bright lights dazzling after the dark of the winter night.

“Blend in with the crowd. We’ll take a seat and watch the show for a bit, then slip away once the show is going. Everyone should be sufficiently distracted, allowing us to take a peek at the director’s computer.”

Sherlock led John over to the bar, buying them a couple of glasses of shiraz. It wasn’t great, but then, nothing here would be. They headed into the theatre then. Though it was normal sized (for local theatre), the setup for the show was intimate, with cocktail tables and seats set up close to the stage. They found a table for two near the back of the small space, with easy access to exit when they needed “investigate” the office. Plus, Sherlock had heard the show was interactive, and John would kill him if they were chosen to do the interacting.

They chatted while the area filled up. Nothing of consequence, just updates on each of their days (John had been plagued at the clinic with elderly people claiming they had the flu, when most had colds or nothing at all). It was nice and comfortable. A lovely way to wind down after a busy day.

Finally, the house lights dimmed. The band began to play, the spotlight flicked on near the theatre’s entrance. A tall, statuesque person with pink hair and a purple gown waved at the crowd.

“Well, hello, dears.”

“Umm, Sherlock,” John whispered right in Sherlock’s ear. Sherlock fought a shiver. “Did you fail to tell me a few details about this show?”

The figure fluttered down the walkway toward the stage, stopping every few steps to talk or pat a person on the shoulder or give a coquettish wave.

“It’s a cabaret, I said that.” Sherlock knew what John meant but pretended otherwise. John felt better when he could act superior every once in a while.

“And it’s being performed in drag?”

“Oh. Yes. Is that a necessary detail for attending the show? Don’t tell me you’re going to turn priggish now, John.”

John sighed. “Of course not. It’s just that it’s a whole different show when it’s drag.”

“Oh?” Sherlock turned to John to see his friend smiling fondly.

“Yeah, just a bit. It’s funnier, for one. I was expecting some serious artsy music thing. Not a comedy.”

“Oh.” Sherlock shrugged. “Well it is. Alright?”

John shook his head, but he was still smiling. “Alright.” He bumped Sherlock’s shoulder with his own. They were sitting pretty close together. Sherlock didn’t move away.

They turned their attention toward the main performer. Or, John did. Sherlock split his attention between the performance and John’s reaction. He seemed genuinely interested and amused by the show, with no signs of discomfort or annoyance. Good. It was a start.

When the performer—a Courtney Act, the pun made him roll his eyes—made a few references to attraction to a few of the men in the room, John didn’t bat an eye, except to laugh with the rest of the audience. He was starting to get antsy and look Sherlock’s way and then at the exit when suddenly a bright light shone in their eyes.

“Well, aren’t you just … a rugged, mouthwatering dish. What’s your name?”

Courtney had sashayed over to their table while they’d been preoccupied and was now sliding an arm across John’s (strong, manly, perfect) shoulders. She held her microphone in front of John’s mouth. John’s eyes widened, but his body settled into his usual soldiery stance easily enough.

He cleared his throat. “John.”

“Oh, how … English and … manly. John.” Courtney’s higher stage voice lowered as she said John’s name. Sherlock didn’t blame her.

“So, John, are you enjoying yourself tonight?”

John nodded. “Yeah. It’s, uh, fun.”

“Mmm. Good. Because I’ve been watching you since you arrived, and you’ve … inspired me.” She winked lewdly at John and snuggled even closer. All thoughts of observing John in this setting flew out of Sherlock’s head. How dare she– What right– How on earth was John so calm?

John laughed loosely. “They don’t call me Three Continents Watson for nothing.” Sherlock stared in disbelief. Was John … flirting? With someone who, technically, wasn’t a woman? And he was calm? And okay with it? This was not what he’d expected. At the most, he’d assumed John was be fondly annoyed at the whole thing, but at least showing he was open to people being not straight, therefore leading to a conversation where Sherlock shared his own identity with him.

Courtney trilled a laugh in return. “Oh, stop, you flirt.”

“Only if you stop first, love.” He was calling her _love_? He only used that with women he flirted with. Normal, straight, boring women he met in pubs and coffee shops. Not drag queens at cabaret shows, and certainly not Sherlock.

“Mmmm. I need to get down to London more often if the men are all like you, darling. Anyway, I’m doing a show, dearie, so I better get to my next song. Which I’m dedicating to you, by the way. Remember me, dear, even when we’re apart.” Courtney winked at John, trailing her fingers along his shoulders and arm as she walked slowly away, sashaying back down the aisle toward the stage, the band starting the next song. John winked back and blew her a kiss before she turned away.

Who was this man? This was _not_ John Watson John was quiet, reserved, grumpy. Yeah, he held his own pulling women at bars, but it was a quiet, intense flirting, not this showy … whatever. Plus, he was unequivocally straight, as he reminded anyone who intimated otherwise. Sherlock had considered recording John angrily saying “No gay” and using it as John’s ringtone on his phone. It would serve as a reminder that he was someone Sherlock could never had.

But was John as straight as he claimed? Was tonight just him hamming it up for an audience, or was he much more comfortable flirting with men than his words claimed?

No longer in the mood for the show, Sherlock jammed his arms into his coat and stalked toward the exit, not even watching to see if John followed. He flagged a cab as soon as he reached the pavement, one sliding into place along the curb moments later. John climbed in behind him before he could shut the door.

“Wait, Sherlock. Don’t we need to search the office?”

“The director is innocent. It’s the stage manager.”

“You got that from seeing the director on stage for two minutes?” John’s eyes were wide, a combination of disbelief and amazement that Sherlock never grew tired of seeing on his face.

“No, I figured it out this afternoon when I called the office and talked to the assistant.”

“But I thought– then what– why were we there tonight?”

Sherlock stayed silent, not trusting himself to speak.

“Is … everything okay?”

Silence.

John sighed. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable in there. I was just going with the flow, okay? I mean, if anything, I should be the one ready to kill you, for not warning me. And for putting us right in her path. Did you know it was interactive?”

Sherlock stared out the window until they arrived home. He left John to pay for the cab. He removed his coat quickly and took the stairs two at a time in hopes of making it to his room before John had time to follow him, but despite a marked difference in leg lengths, John was quick. He managed to enter the sitting room shortly after Sherlock, tugging his sleeve to stop him moving.

“Sherlock,” his voice was soft, worried. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. I’m just– tired.”

John snorted. “You slept in until ten this morning. It’s barely nine now.” He tugged again, this time grabbing Sherlock’s wrist. “What’s wrong? What did I do?”

“Nothing! I just– Nothing.”

“Sherlock, why did we go to the show tonight?” He kicked his foot out to tap Sherlock’s shin lightly. “Talk to me.”

“I talk to you all the time. In point of fact, you tell me I never shut up. I thought you’d be glad of the silence.”

“Sherlock.” He dragged out his name in a way that said he was annoyed but also amused.

Sherlock shrugged. “I just … wanted to go.”

John huffed a laugh. “Why didn’t you just say so?”

“You would’ve gone, knowing what it was?” Sherlock cocked his head, looking at John’s face for the first time. He looked fondly exasperated.

“It’s not the first drag show I’ve seen, and I wouldn’t be surprised if it wasn’t the last. They’re fun. And it’s nice, with that sort of audience. I get to relax, just be myself, you know?”

Sherlock mind froze. “Be … yourself?”

“Yeah, you know,” John rubbed his neck. “Bisexual?”

“You’re. You are.”

John laughed tightly. “Bisexual. Yeah.”

“But you always say you’re not gay!”

“Well. _Technically_ , I’m not.”

“John?” It came out more like a confused whimper than Sherlock wanted.

“I thought you knew.” John looked more vulnerable than Sherlock had seen him since the day they met.

He tried again. “‘Not gay.’ That’s what you’re _always_ saying. ‘Not gay.’ And I was just supposed to _deduce_ you were bisexual from that?”

John shoved his hand through his hair. “Well, yeah. You’re Sherlock-bloody-Holmes. We’re flatmates. You see every secret any person ever wanted to keep, and you’re telling me you thought I was straight just because I said I wasn’t gay?”

“I’m not a mind reader, John! I can’t see an untruth when you’ve done every single thing possible to hide it.”

“What was I supposed to do? I _am_ mostly attracted to women. Dating women is certainly easier, even in today’s society and especially for someone my age. Plus, there is the little fact that the only man I have been attracted to since I returned to London has shown no interest in me. Or in anyone! So yeah, I chose to ignore that part of me. Because it wasn’t relevant, okay? It made no difference when you’re the only …” John’s rant lost steam, and his eyes widened. He spun on his heel and headed for the door.

“John?” Sherlock’s eyes darted over every inch of John that he could see. His hands were clenched and his shoulders up around his ears. Sherlock could hear him breathing hard. A tiny spark of hope lit in his chest. His breath caught.

John froze in the doorway but didn’t turn around.

“When I’m the only what?”

John’s head dropped.

“When I’m the only _what_ , John?” He squeezed his eyes shut and wished harder than he’d ever wished before.

“When you’re the only one who matters.” John’s voice was quiet, defeated, but then it rose in volume. “When I look at everyone else, and they pale in comparison. When you’re the one who makes me feel alive.” Sherlock heard him turn around. “When you’re the one I can imagine spending the rest of my life with, even if this is all we ever are to each other. If I can just be by your side, make you laugh, protect you, it would be enough.”

Sherlock’s eyes shot open. He took a step forward. “Even if we never …”

John smiled sadly. “Even then.”

Sherlock studied John’s face. Behind the sadness lurked something more. Hope? Love. His brain finally caught on something that had been eluding him (or perhaps he’d been avoiding) for a while now. “You … stopped dating months ago.” He took another step forward.

John shrugged. “Wasn’t much of a point. No one compared.”

“Even though you thought I didn’t–”

“Even then,” John repeated himself.

“But we weren’t–”

“I was happy with you by my side. It was enough.”

“And maybe. If I wanted …” He took another step. He was close enough to smell John’s aftershave. It smelled like comfort and happiness and adventure.

“Only what you want. What you’re comfortable with.” John tilted his head to look up at Sherlock, his eyes big, blue, and glassy, like the midnight sea. His hand brushed Sherlock’s, who latched on tightly.

“Oh. Good.”

“Yeah.” John smiled. “Good.”

***

“You were jealous of Courtney Act, weren’t you?!”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on Tumbler [@vateacancameos](http://vateacancameos.tumblr.com/).


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